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John  Ruskin 

The  Voice  of  the  New  Age 


John  Ruskin 

The  Voice  of  the  New  Age 


J.  S.  MONTGOMERY 


Cincinnati:  Jennings  and  Pye 
New  York:  Eaton  and  Mains 


Copyright , 190  2, 
by 

Jennings  and  Pye 


IN  the  concrete  we  are  Christian,  but  in 
the  realm  of  the  abstract  we  are  part  in- 
fidel. The  story  of  some  simple  life 
comes  to  us  in  the  measure  of  an  unequaled 
charm.  To  the  mind  are  presented  three 
objects — love,  religion,  and  patriotism.  Give 
them  flesh,  and  we  understand.  Real  men 
with  real  voices  and  real  hearts  make  an 
earthly  scene  which  is  attractive.  Philos- 
ophy can  explain  the  song-bird ; but  explana- 
tion is  not  inspiration.  The  latter  we  must 
have.  The  bird  in  the  overhanging  bough 
moves  us  as  it  pours  forth  a throat  filled  with 
liquid  song.  But  the  theory  of  music  is  a 
bald  conclusion.  The  history  of  flowers, 
rocks,  and  stars  can  never  compete  with  the 
story  of  some  great  heart.  The  day  would 
be  poor  indeed  were  it  not  for  models  and 


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6 John  Ruskin 

master — uplifted  and  illuminated.  The 
world  is  filled  with  gifts  good  and  perfect, 
but  the  richest  products  of  any  age  are  con- 
science, love,  and  ideals.  The  world  very 
justly  appreciates  a Newton,  whose  mind 
stepped  from  star  to  star  and  from  system 
to  system,  and  a Bacon,  whose  great  genius 
could  untwist  the  unseen  elements  of  the 
world-house ; but  John  Ruskin,  ethical 
teacher,  prophet,  and  seer,  inspires  great 
strength,  by  which  the  higher  goodness  is 
made  attainable. 

God  not  only  spoke  once,  but  he  is  speak- 
ing still.  Inspiration  is  continuous.  God’s 
unfolding  truth  journeys  with  man;  he  is 
ever  breathing  into  the  breast  of  some 
prophet  his  providences  and  purposes.  A 
long  time  ago  he  said  unto  one,  “Go!”  and 
he  goeth.  And  at  the  approach  of  the  foot- 
step of  Abraham  the  growing  pathway 
widened  into  a highway  of  righteousness. 
The  voice  said  again,  “Come !”  and  he  com- 


John  Ruskin 


7 


eth;  and  lo!  that  son  of  Tarsus,  whose  tunic 
was  stained  with  a brother’s  blood,  became 
a penitent  beneath  the  Syrian  sky.  Upon 
the  world’s  horizon  have  ever  stood  prophets. 
They  leaned  not  upon  the  accidents  of  life; 
they  were  God-appointed.  They  worshiped 
not  at  the  perishable  shrines  of  glory,  gold, 
or  greatness.  God  exalted  them ; and 
through  such  master  minds  all  progress  is 
wrought.  This  is  God’s  way. 

To  the  list  of  earth’s  immortals,  unto 
whom  human  life  and  welfare  were  sacred, 
we  hasten  to  add  the  name  of  John  Ruskin. 
Epoch-making  men  in  any  century  are  rare 
and  infrequent  creations.  It  is  only  given 
to  a few  to  date  new  eras  for  themselves. 
The  note  of  the  prophet  is  not  a common 
endowment.  To  change  the  current  of  social 
and  religious  life  and  throw  it  into  untried 
channels  is  no  easy  task.  Society  has  ever 
made  bold  strikes  to  extricate  itself  by  the 
discipline  of  policy.  But  John  Ruskin  stands 


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John  Ruskin 


apart.  He  brings  a divine  touch  to  every 
impulse  of  the  human  heart.  Much  that  is 
deepest  in  human  faculty  and  finest  in  hu- 
man feeling  are  responding  to  his  precept 
and  example.  He  has  rolled  the  world  upon 
the  heart,  and  the  ministry  of  the  heart  upon 
the  world.  Thus  he  disowned  a religion 
engendered  of  self.  He  bent  his  religion  to 
human  need,  and  angels  knew  him  as  a 
brother. 

John  Ruskin  preached  his  first  sermon 
when  a lad  of  three.  “People,”  said  the  tot, 
“be  good.  If  you  are  good,  God  will  love 
you.  If  you  are  not  good,  God  will  not  love 
you.  People,  be  good.”  He  never  changed 
his  message.  Like  Lindsley,  the  novelist, 
and  Browning,  the  poet,  when  first  impres- 
sions began  to  nibble  at  the  mind,  John 
Ruskin  foreshadowed  his  life  purpose.  He 
preached.  Let  not  our  estimate  of  him  be 
too  exclusive.  When  he  saw  colors  in  sweet 
harmony  splashed  upon  the  canvas,  or  in- 


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John  Ruskin 

genious  scars  carved  in  marble,  or  nature 
clothed  in  loveliness,  he  knew  it,  and  called 
them  beautiful.  But  he  did  not  stop  in  the 
empire  of  form  and  feature.  These,  alone, 
were  misshapen  dwarfs.  They  were  like 
lowering  clouds  upon  his  brow.  Here  is 
where  Nireus  camped.  In  Ruskin’s  score 
and  a half  volumes  the  view  that  he  was 
only  an  art  critic  and  a lover  of  nature  is 
put  to  flight.  Primarily  he  is  moralist — 
a teacher  of  ethical  and  religious  truth.  He 
ever  felt  the  mighty  substance  of  eternity 
and  the  feverish  shadow  of  time.  Among 
the  mellow  tints  of  human  life  he  saw  the 
hovering  shadows  over  all.  He  planted  his 
feet  on  bed-rock,  and,  with  his  brow  in  the 
skies,  by  his  marvelous  gifts  and  by  his  mor- 
tal failings,  he  followed  his  bent — which  was 
preacher.  As  prophet  and  man  “He  cared 
for  nature  more  than  art;  for  human  kind 
more  than  nature ; for  the  glory  of  God  most 
of  all.”  In  art  alone  his  soul  rebelled  and 


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John  Ruskin 


refused  to  abide.  That  eminent  Christian 
scholar,  Dr.  Waldstein,  says:  “Ruskin’s 
strongest  points  and  greatest  achievements 
are  not  to  be  found  in  the  domain  of  art. 
Art,  as  such,  does  not  respond  to  the  bent 
of  his  natural  mind.”  He  travels  through 
nature  and  art.  He  loves  the  delights  of 
the  passage,  but  he  leads  on  to  the  sanc- 
tuary. Humanity  is  the  first  and  the  last 
of  his  sermon.  He  stays  in  the  oratory  of 
the  soul.  Frederick  Harrison  instructs  us. 
He  says:  “John  Ruskin  began  by  preaching 
to  us  a higher  sense  of  art  in  order  to  lead 
us  up  to  a truer  understanding  of  morality, 
industry,  religion,  and  humanity.” 

True,  “art”  was  his  text ; but  right  living 
was  his  message.  He  preached  as  a child 
of  the  noon,  for  his  soul  was  as  the  summer 
skies.  His  French  critics  follow  in  the  pea- 
cock’s train,  whose  ideas  of  art  and  the  beau- 
tiful are  as  the  wandering  shades  of  watered 
silk.  They  bow  at  the  altar,  “Art  for  art’s 


John  Ruskin 


u 


sake.”  It  is  not  strange  that  the  French 
school  should  quarter  their  appreciation  of 
this  man  and  mock  at  his  ideals.  They 
lived,  by  word  and  action,  that  “art  is  its 
own  religion,  its  own  morality,  and  we  want 
neither  Bible  nor  missal  to  show  us  how  to 
paint.”  When  Tennyson’s  eyes  fell  upon 
these  words,  he  blurted  out  with  surface 
bluntness,  “That  is  the  road  to  hell.” 
“Agreed,”  Ruskin  would  have  answered. 
Within  his  bosom’s  core  he  was  Puritan, 
though  he  would  have  disowned  the  brand. 
He  was  obstinate,  and  dared  the  vice  of 
honesty.  Art,  ethics,  and  religion  were  in 
immeasurable  momentum  in  this  gifted  man. 
In  each  realm  he  is  an  ambassador  of  true 
life.  In  the  domain  of  character  he  labors. 
Here  he  exhales  the  odor  of  sanctity.  He 
never  imperils  the  soul’s  throne.  In  the 
first  volume  of  “Modern  Painters”  he  wrote, 
“Art  has  for  its  business  to  praise  God.” 
In  the  last  volume  he  said,  “Art  is  the  ex- 


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John  Ruskin 


pression  of  delight  in  God’s  work.”  A good 
work  has  been  done  when  the  ignorant 
mouth  has  been  shut.  De  la  Sizerrane,  in 
a fret,  cries,  “Passionate  love  of  nature  was 
Ruskin’s  Alpha  and  Omega.”  Not  so. 
Man’s  chief  end  is  to  glorify  God  and  to 
enjoy  him  forever,  was  his  shorter  cate- 
chism. Other  than  this,  to  him  all  paintings 
were  daubs  and  nature  a riddle.  In  his 
world  beautiful  was  the  perfect  flowering 
of  all  life;  life  fragrant,  life  expanded  into 
great  heart,  full  of  love  and  blessed.  In  this 
teaching  were  the  essences  which  turn  our 
little  worlds  into  growing  gardens  of  un- 
speakable gifts. 

Was  he  orthodox?  At  times  he  repels 
us,  and  we  revolt.  The  trouble  is,  he  applies 
the  t ruth  with  such  level  and  impartial 
sweep  that  he  stuns;  dreadfully  unanswer- 
able; yet  he  touches  the  Christian  ideal  at 
every  point.  Critics  have  chased  him  with 
unsparing  tread  because  he  is  too  absolutely 


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John  Ruskin 

Christian ; he  spares  not ; he  bites  too  deep ; 
he  simply  strips  the  truth  of  all  artificial- 
ities. To  him  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is 
real.  He  seeks  to  take  it  away  from  the 
mere  jugglers,  and  hand  it  over  to  the  mul- 
titudes, that  it  may  become  a common  rule 
of  conduct  and  a simple  hope  of  heaven. 
To  many  the  ethics  of  this  greatest  sermon 
is  revolutionary.  For  the  Church  we  can 
not  make  a great  claim  that  it  is  attempting 

r 

to  apply  them  to  public  and  private  life. 
Too  often  there  is  a shrinking  from  the 
labels  “foolish,”  “Utopian,”  “fanatical.” 
Writes  an  agnostic  of  to-day  of  Ruskin, 
“He  had  hold  of  the  gospel.”  In  the  every- 
day application  of  the  gospel  Ruskin  was 
disquieting,  relentless,  and  frightfully  ter- 
rifying to  the  average  Christian.  His  whole 
aim  was  simply  to  carry  out  into  the  routine 
of  daily  life  the  truths  that  Christians  pro- 
fess on  Sundays.  With  him  all  days  were 
holy  days,  all  water  was  holy  water,  and 


14  John  Ruskin 

all  bread  was  sacrificial  bread.  Thus  he 
caused  alienations  and  conflicts.  He  kindled 
the  wrath  of  professor  and  Churchman. 
They  turned  up  perplexingly  angular.  But 
often  it  is,  to  live  in  peace  with  God  we  must 
live  in  enmity  of  man.  All  the  while  Rus- 
kin’s  sanity  was  delightful.  The  simple 
teaching  of  Jesus  was  his  plea.  He  stood 
apart  from  theologic  dye-stuff,  declaring  that 
sweet  simplicity  was  the  terminal  point  of 
all  progress.  If  the  sparrow  is  glad  and 
the  lily  happy,  he  wondered  why  man  went 
about  the  earth  mourning  and  weeping. 

As  the  present-day  progress  of  discoveries 
and  inventions  is  witnessed,  we  are  amazed 
that  the  world  journeyed  so  many  long  cen- 
turies without  them.  Yet  we  have  just 
reason  to  be  more  deeply  surprised  at  a 
Christendom  which  has  traveled  nigh  a score 
of  centuries  without  learning  that  plain 
Christianity  is  the  life  of  Jesus.  There  are 
numerous  questions  relating  to  credal  state- 


John  Ruskin 


15 


ment  about  which  we  shall  never  know  the 
Master’s  mind.  Many  intellectual  inquiries 
he  passed  by.  But  the  example  he  set  and 
the  precepts  he  taught  admit  of  no  doubt. 
He  taught  that  man  was  the  daily  recipient 
of  the  treasury  of  mercy ; if  hungry,  thirsty, 
or  guilty  he  was  to  be  sought  as  guest  to 
the  King’s  feast,  and  as  child  of  hope  the 
Rock  of  his  confidence  is  ever  sure.  While 
clutching  at  the  horn  of  his  danger,  stupidly 
deaf,  taking  note  of  nothing  good,  and 
catching  at  the  bright  decoys  of  sin,  the 
Father’s  house  is  always  open.  In  his  em- 
phasis of  practical  Christianity  Ruskin 
paints  a great  streak  in  the  coming  dawn. 
Life ! life ! is  the  keyword  of  his  doctrine, 
and  shall  never  crumber  to  the  sand.  It  is 
the  supreme  actuality  of  the  universe  and 
the  nourishing  bread  of  heaven.  It  trans- 
forms earth,  sky,  and  water  into  flowers, 
trees,  buds,  and  blossoms.  So  it  is,  Jesus 
flings  it  into  souls  and  bids  them  live.  In 


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John  Ruskin 


the  fabric  of  character  it  is  the  one  great 
word.  In  its  vocabulary  there  are  none 
greater.  ’T  is  the  dominating  note  of  the 
whole  Bible.  Man  can  not  float  while  com- 
mon sense  is  swamped.  The  glory  of  the 
Alpine  flower  is  safe.  It  sends  its  search- 
ing roots  away  down  deep  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  flaky  rock,  and  lays  hold  of  the  secret 
place  in  the  hidden  cleft.  Thus  it  lives.  It 
is  the  Christ-life  that  saves  man;  life  un- 
fettered that  begets  the  creature’s  nobility. 
But  not  only  so.  In  a world  where  the 
oarsman  must  pull  or  perish,  where  every 
peril  has  a gaping  gate  and  every  creature 
is  the  pensioner  of  God,  man  must  be  his 
brother’s  savior.  This  is  Ruskin.  He 
flamed  forth  this  mighty  conviction.  He 
struck  “between  the  joints  of  the  harness.” 
Sage-life  he  possessed;  a ponderous  endur- 
ance of  decision.  He  was  all  oak.  Amid 
the  hurricanes  of  the  critics,  he  was  like  a 
promontory  in  might.  He  breasted  criti- 


John  Ruskin 


17 


cisms  as  arrows  glance  from  adamant.  To 
him  the  path  of  service  was  the  path  to 
glory.  His  ideals  were  not  too  high  nor  his 
claims  too  great.  While  his  numerous  con- 
temporaries, of  the  materialistic  sort,  were 
quibbling  about  the  dust  of  man  and  the 
"rib”  of  woman,  our  prophet  was  pleading 
for  "man — man,  the  favorite  of  God.”  A 
humble  shoemaker  listened  one  day  for  the 
footfall  of  Christ.  He  had  dreamed  that  the 
Master  would  visit  him  that  day.  All 
through  its  hours  the  poor  workman  watched 
and  waited.  In  the  interim  he  found  time 
to  relieve  the  distress  of  an  aged  man,  a sick 
woman,  and  a cripple  boy.  At  evening  time, 
weary  and  sick  at  heart,  he  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  expressed  disappointment  that 
the  Christ  had  not  made  his  promised  visit, 
and  the  voice  answered,  "Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these, 
thy  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.” 
Arise ; let  us  go.  Make  every  added  oppor- 


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John  Ruskin 


tunity  and  every  increasing  gift  a pledge  to 
duty  and  greater  obligation.  May  there  be 
seen,  in  growing  outlines,  the  image  of 
Christ ! — even  as  Dante,  scaling  terrace  after 
terrace  of  “Purgatorio,”  beheld  in  raptur- 
ous joy  the  growing  form  of  his  beloved 
Beatrice.  Ruskin’s  dictum  is:  “Put  your 
creed  into  your  deed.  Character  is  greater 
than  catechism.” 

Ruskin’s  “Unto  this  Last,”  two-score 
years  ago,  set  the  boasting  political  econ- 
omists howling.  He  was  guilty  of  a daring 
intrusion.  In  Ruskin’s  mix,  ethics  and 
aesthetics  became  one  lump.  ’T  is  the  old 
cry,  Let  the  preacher  stick  to  the  gospel,  as 
the  cobbler  does  to  his  last.  This  is  an  easy 
retort.  To  complicate  matters  is  a galling 
violation,  you  know.  Ethics  and  aesthetics 
are  delegated  to  live  apart,  declared  the 
critics.  John  Ruskin  taught  that  they  are 
inseparable  and  are  twisted  around  the  ribs 
of  the  globe.  The  one  must  be  grafted  onto 


John  Ruskin 


19 


the  strength  of  the  other.  By  ethical  con- 
sideration he  sought  to  leaven  the  lump  of 
political  economy  by  asking  how  the  people 
lived.  To  him  the  wealth  of  humanity  was 
the  only  real  riches  of  life.  With  him  re- 
ligion was  a strange  commodity;  the  more 
you  send  away,  the  more  you  have  at  home. 
When  the  critics  were  pursuing  him,  like 
hounds  chasing  a wild  hare,  with  quick 
bound  and  hot  breath,  Ruskin,  like  the 
Prophet  of  Carmel,  without  toil  or  travail, 
said : “There  is  no  wealth  but  life ; life,  in- 
cluding all  the  powers  of  love,  of  joy,  of  ad- 
miration. That  country  is  the  richest  which 
nourishes  the  greatest  number  of  noble  and 
happy  beings.”  But  the  economists  regarded 
man  as  ratchet,  wheel,  or  screw  in  some  in- 
human machine.  Scanning  the  surface  of 
life,  they  counted  the  rich  the  only  happy; 
wealth  as  the  compensating  peace  which 
never  faileth  to  gladden  man  in  his  afflic- 
tions. Ruskin  seeks  to  draw  the  angel  out 


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John  Ruskin 


of  man  by  wholesome  influences,  unselfish 
service,  by  lifting  him,  and  by  justice.  True 
life  was  not  a question  of  coin  or  doctrinal 
statement.  These  worshipers  were  of  the 
outer-court  sort.  Character  is  moral,  and  not 
ceremonial ; is  daily  practice  based  on  daily 
precept.  He  stirred  the  pulse  of  these  hu- 
man highlands  with  a truth  that  is  destined 
to  weld  the  pure  elements  of  human  life  into 
one  everlasting  harmony.  The  truth  he 
states,  says  one,  is  this:  “He  deliberately 
lays  down  an  ethical  standard  of  conduct 
for  the  art  of  political  economy,  the  accept- 
ance of  which  entirely  alters  the  nature  of 
the  science/’  Man  is  greater  than  system 
or  institution.  Conscience  and  reason  must 
be  companions.  Don’t  confuse  him  with 
Tolstoi.  The  latter  is  a literalist ; the  former 
is  sanely  practical.  Tolstoi  is  contemplation ; 
Ruskin  is  now.  One  is  ascetic,  and  the 
other  is  hand  to  hand.  In  “Unto  this  Last,” 
Ruskin’s  concluding  passage  is:  “Consider 


John  Ruskin 


21 


whether,  even  supposing  it  guiltless,  luxury 
would  be  desired  by  any  of  us  if  we  saw 
clearly  by  our  sides  the  suffering  which  ac- 
companies it  in  this  world.  Luxury  is  in- 
deed possible  in  the  future — innocent  and 
exquisite ; luxury  for  all ; but  luxury  at  pres- 
ent can  only  be  enjoyed  by  the  ignorant; 
the  cruelist  man  living  could  not  sit  at  the 
feast,  unless  he  sat  blindfolded.  Raise  the 
veil  boldly;  face  the  light.”  The  stroke  is 
bold.  To  raise  the  veil  is  the  very  last  thing 
people  want  to  do.  The  suggestion  makes 
panic  of  thought;  it  sets  truants  guessing. 
One  long  drama  is  yet  to  come — the  drama 
of  man.  It  takes  time  for  a great  idea  to 
take  color  and  ripen.  In  the  meantime, 
minds  light  and  childish  may  laugh  at  the 
life  and  pleadings  of  such  a man,  and 
prophesy  foolish  things.  In  the  Ruskinian 
awakening  the  future  has  begun  to  glow. 
Each  year  bears  a deeper  shading  of  his 
thought.  In  this  renaissance  swarthy  labor 


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John  Ruskin 


and  easy  opulence  shall  sit  down  together, 
and  each  will  claim  the  right  to  carry  the 
heavier  burden.  Man,  and  man  alone,  is  to 
wear  the  crown  jewels.  With  a divine  im- 
pressiveness that  shall  grow  forever  shall  be 
handed  over  to  the  races  of  men  that  pris- 
matic conception  of  earth’s  greatest  philos- 
ophy which  first  echoed  in  the  ears  of  the 
wondering  multitudes  as  they  were  gathered 
about  the  mountain’s  base:  “Therefore  all 
things  whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should 
do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them;  for  this 
is  the  law  and  the  prophets.” 

And  idealist  was  he  ? A brothmaker  ? He 
comes  from  subtle  heights  to  splendid  serv- 
ice! In  the  spacious  rooms  of  his  great 
breast  the  world’s  strays  found  hospitality. 
His  was  a fellowship  that  is  vigorous  and 
efficacious.  But  how  shall  we  explain  him? 
A life  so  wondrously  converged  asks  ques- 
tions. The  traveler  follows  the  “Father  of 
Waters”  to  the  little  lake  in  the  North,  in 


John  Ruskin 


23 


whose  face  is  reflected  the  imagery  of  the 
skies.  But  its  source  is  not  there.  It  lies 
far  beyond  and  above  in  the  clouds  and 
winds  of  the  heavens,  where  lie  silent  the 
rainstorm  and  the  snowfall.  True  greatness 
so  often  lies  beyond  blood  and  environment. 
It  is  God-born,  and  not  man-made.  John 
Ruskin  was  born  a child  of  genius  and  an 
heir  to  wealth.  At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  as 
author  and  heir,  London  parlors  and  draw- 
ing-rooms were  ready  to  lionize  him.  The 
moment  was  critical ; but  he  was  high- 
minded.  He  yearned  to  see  the  vision — re- 
fusing the  glittering  pathways  in  which  the 
rich  were  vying  with  each  other.  The  veil 
dropped,  and  he  looked  to  see.  Hencefor- 
ward he  was  a knight  errant  of  the  poor. 
Morning  after  morning  he  visited  the  Lon- 
don docks  where  men  and  women  were 
crowding  the  gates.  They  were  weak  and 
faint  with  hunger;  their  eyes  were  feverish 
pools  of  want,  and  their  faces  pinched  and 


John  Ruskin 


24 

drawn.  Thousands  of  these  honest  idlers 
gathered  here  daily,  at  an  early  hour,  that 
they  might  get  a job  of  work,  to  earn  a bit 
of  bread  for  starving  wives  and  mothers  and 
crying  children.  He  visited  Whitechapel  at 
the  evening  hour,  and  there  saw  the  motley 
gangs  of  men,  women,  and  children  return- 
ing from  their  toil,  whose  daily  stint  was 
fourteen  hours.  Here  they  toiled  for  the 
beggar’s  wage,  within  walls  whose  every 
pore  oozed  filth  and  poison.  Here  brains 
were  made  drunken,  the  blood  hot  and  fever- 
ish. Dwarfed  mentally  and  shriveled  phys- 
ically, they  soon  yielded  to  some  contagion, 
and,  dying,  they  left  an  enfeebled  offspring. 
The  human  heart  must  be  a companion  of 
man’s  philosophy.  Theory  must  not  out- 
race  practice.  Birds  long  caged  lose  the 
power  of  their  wings. 

A cruel  deed 

It  is,  poor  bird,  to  cage  thee  up 
A prisoner  for  life,  with  just  a cup 
And  box  of  seed. 


John  Ruskin  25 

Man  is  better  than  many  sparrows,  in- 
deed ; but  London’s  poor  were  sadly  like  the 
bird  in  the  prison-house — a cage,  a cup,  and 
a crust.  Out  West  there  is  a wide,  strange 
area  where  smoke  pours  out  of  the  porous 
earth,  hot  water  shoots  high  into  the  air, 
the  fumes  of  poison  cause  the  brain  to  reel, 
the  soil  is  spongy  and  sinks  under  foot, 
vegetation  can  not  grow,  birds  come  not 
here;  hissing  sounds  are  heard  which  set 
the  nerves  on  edge.  Shocked,  the  traveler 
to  this  place  mutters,  with  bated  breath, 
“Hell  is  not  far  away.”  When  Ruskin  went 
about  old  London,  sounding  its  depths,  his 
stricken  soul  mourned,  “Hell  is  close  at 
hand.”  Issuing  from  sepulchers  foul  and 
fearful,  wretched  hovels,  sweating  vats,  and 
alleyways  as  dark  as  night,  he  saw  the  labor- 
ers like  unto  black  shadows — the  wreckage 
upon  life’s  sea.  May  a distinction  be  made 
here  in  favor  of  Dante’s  hell?  In  his  hell 
only  the  cruelly  wicked  suffer;  but  in  Lon- 


26 


John  Ruskin 


don  the  poor  and  innocent  wore  the  crown 
of  thorns. 

Work,  work,  work, 

My  labor  never  flags ; 

And  what  are  its  wages  ? A bed  of  straw, 

A crust  of  bread  and  rags ; 

A shattered  roof,  and  this  naked  floor, 

A table,  a broken  chair, 

And  a wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I thank 
For  sometimes  falling  there. 

While  London  was  thus  prison  and  hos- 
pital, thirstily  strained  the  rich;  a ravenous 
greed  was  gnawing.  Like  the  wide,  ex- 
tensive districts  of  the  torrid  zone,  they 
yielded  no  kindly  nourishment.  Justice  was 
on  the  cross.  The  rich  were  clutching  at  the 
poor  man’s  bed  of  straw  to  weave  it  into 
cots  of  ease.  In  this  hour  Ruskin’s  whole 
being  revolted.  He  clinched  a rigid  fist,  and, 
with  justifiable  rage,  he  used  two  voices — the 
bark  of  an  infuriated  dog,  and  the  call  to 
the  sanctuary.  All  the  time  they  were  glut- 


John  Ruskin 


27 


ting  at  their  maw  and  casing  their  hearts  in 
iron.  Stuffed  with  plum  pudding,  cheeks 
red  and  beefy,  assessors  and  receivers,  and 
the  poor  in  mute  submission. 

John  Ruskin  taught  that  the  obligations 
of  wealth  and  genius  are  superior.  He 
allowed  them  no  release  in  evergreen  pas- 
tures, where  they  might  coo  life  away  in 
indolence  and  sin.  In  their  unwillingness 
to  wear  the  yoke  he  salved  them  not  with 
easy  words.  While  they  claimed  an  ex- 
clusive heritage,  a latitude  denied  the  com- 
mon stock,  an  exemption  from  earth’s 
burdens,  he  stood  as  champion  of  human 
justice.  He  was  the  warder  at  the  gate- 
way of  right.  He  was  more  concerned 
about  earth’s  hell  than  he  was  about  the 
hell  that  is  to  come.  With  him  a heaven 
on  earth  was  quite  as  important  as  a heaven 
in  a world  hereafter.  The  modern  novel 
is  a remarkable  evolution.  Its  present  su- 
premacy is  unique.  Its  beginning  was  not 


28 


John  Ruskin 


altogether  creditable.  In  the  days  of  Field- 
ing and  Smollett  the  lords  and  ladies  of 
creation  were  canonized  by  the  genius 
of  the  storyteller.  To-day  the  novelist 
makes  onslaught  on  hypocritical  condona- 
tion, especially  in  high  places.  A number 
of  years  ago  there  lived  in  the  public  mind 
of  our  country  a great  genius.  This  man 
was  cleverly  heartless,  and  wittily  wicked. 
By  virture  of  his  imperial  intellect,  he 
claimed  the  right  of  indulgence.  He  re- 
fused to  wear  the  yoke  of  manhood,  and 
scandalized  society.  In  the  National  de- 
partment of  justice,  standing  before  the 
picture  of  one  of  New  England’s  famous 
sons,  one  is  reminded  of  the  tragedy  of  a 
woman’s  heart.  In  college  he  stood  at  the 
head  of  his  classes.  On  the  night  of  his 
graduation,  he  led  to  the  altar  one  of  New 
England’s  loveliest  daughters.  Next  to  God, 
on  whom  the  beautiful  maiden  stayed  her 
soul,  was  the  love  she  bore  him.  Heaven 


John  Ruskin 


29 


smiled  upon  the  union.  They  returned  to 
a palace.  Ere  long  it  was  changed  into  a 
drunkard’s  home.  The  cheek  that  once 
blushed  as  a climbing  rose  was  faded.  Sad 
fate  had  left  its  carving  lines  upon  her  brow. 
Only  a few  short  years  she  lingered  upon 
that  verge  that  divides  existence  from  the 
grave.  Here  was  greatness  of  genius  tak- 
ing exemption  from  the  laws  of  right 
living.  Other  centuries  have  been  the 
white  man’s  age,  but  this  one  is  the  age 
of  man.  The  play  of  human  rights  is  des- 
tined to  continue.  Ruskin  exclaims  to  the 
ingenious,  as  well  as  the  humblest  son : “Do 
justice  and  judgment,  that ’s  your  Bible 
order ; that ’s  the  service  of  God— not  pray- 
ing and  psalm-singing.  We  are  impru- 
dent enough  to  call  our  beggings  and  shout- 
ings, ‘Divine  service.’  Alas ! unless  we  per- 
form divine  service  in  every  willing  act 
of  life,  we  never  perform  it  all.  The  one 
divine  work,  the  one  order  of  service  and 


30 


John  Ruskin 


sacrifice,  is  to  do  justice.  Do  justice  to 
your  brother;  you  can  do  that  whether  you 
love  him  or  not,  and  you  will  come  to  love 
him.  But  do  justice  to  him  because  you 
do  n’t  love  him,  and  you  will  come  to 
hate  him.”  This  declaration  was  made  to 
an  audience  of  Christians  in  1865.  His 
word  is,  money,  genius,  and  talent  are  to 
be  used  for  man,  and  our  chief  duty  among 
our  fellows  is  to  prove  maxim  by  precept. 
We  are  men,  and,  as  such,  we  owe  our- 
selves to  all  mankind.  In  the  “Crown  of 
Wild  Olives,”  which  is  strikingly  clear 
and  tremendously  sane,  he  assails  the  mod- 
ern version  and  practice  of  Christianity. 
He  goes  the  whole  length.  He  spares  not 
the  exalted  ones  in  their  wretched  de- 
formities, though  they  may  be  gracefully 
carved  and  delicately  painted.  He  says, 
“You  knock  a man  into  the  ditch,  and  then 
you  tell  him  to  remain  content  in  the  posi- 
tion in  which  Providence  has  placed  him.” 


3i 


John  Ruskin 

And,  again,  he  says  to  the  Bradford  mer- 
chant: “We  have  indeed  a nominal  relig- 
ion to  which  we  apply  tithes  of  property 
and  sevenths  of  time;  but  we  have  a prac- 
tical and  earnest  religion  to  which  we  de- 
vote nine-tenths  of  our  property  and  six- 
sevenths  of  our  time.  And  we  dispute  a 
great  deal  about  the  nominal  religion,  but 
we  are  all  unanimous  about  the  practical 
religion  of  which  the  ruling  goddess  may 
be  best  generally  described  as  the  ‘Goddess 
of  Getting  On/  ” Slightly  extravagant  ? Is 
he  unfaithful  to  the  day  in  its  actual  type? 
Dare  we,  receiving  bread,  give  a stone; 
receiving  fish,  give  a serpent?  The  core  of 
Ruskin’s  creed  is  this,  that  all  property  and 
all  talent  are  given  as  sacred  trusts. 

He  scans  the  appalling  number  of  hu- 
man foes.  He  argues  the  pliancy  of  the 
soul.  JT  is  an  old  truth,  two  pictures 
—Marie  Antoinette  and  Joan  of  Arc.  In 
the  constant  presence  of  the  one,  the  mind 


32 


John  Ruskin 


is  tinctured  with  vice  and  viciousness;  by 
the  daily  look  upon  the  other,  the  life  is 
flavored  with  unselfishness,  purity,  and  no^ 
bility.  Man  is  clay,  and  often  it  is  that  en- 
vironment is  the  potter.  Environment  is 
weight,  or  wings  to  the  soul.  It  makes 
one  sodden  and  mentally  stupid,  while 
on  some,  Michael’s  face,  the  outer  glow  is 
only  the  expression  of  an  inner  warmth. 
This  is  one  of  Ruskin’s  supreme  claims. 
As  noiselessly,  but  yet  as  surely  as  the  moth 
frets  at  the  fringes  of  the  purple  rose,  so 
do  the  dark,  dismal  surroundings  cause 
creeping  paralysis  of  mind  and  gnawing 
deadness  of  nerve,  until  careless,  indifferent 
victims,  unmindful  of  dark  and  awful  pos- 
sibilities, wabble  into  an  oblivious  eternity. 
John  Ruskin  saw  these  burdened  lives,  and 
realized  their  tragic  ends.  His  soul  mourned 
the  squalor,  filth,  darkness,  and  death  of 
the  tenement  district.  His  soul  cried  aloud 
to  move  this  mass  and  mix  of  human  life, 


John  Ruskin 


33 


and  lift  the  curse  from  the  humblest  one. 
We  have  stood  on  the  shore  of  old  ocean. 
Its  majestic  independence  struck  us.  How 
placid  it  seemed  as  the  waves  broke  in  in- 
nocence upon  the  rocks.  We  paused  on 
the  sands.  In  the  fairy  chemistry  of  the 
spattered  spray  we  loved  to  bathe  our  face. 
The  beauty  of  the  sunlit  landscape  is  the 
offspring  of  the  old  sea.  The  beady  foam 
is  like  strings  of  pearls  in  braids  of  glory. 
No  wonder  the  seagull  sleeps  upon  the 
waves.  Splashed  into  the  firmament,  how 
fascinating ! The  sun,  the  outstretched 
skies,  the  shadows,  the  foam,  the  shells,  set 
in  the  azure  blue  of  the  laughing  deep, 
form  a picture  for  the  envy  of  painter  and 
poet.  But  come ! Listen ! What  awful 
secrets  are  hidden  in  its  mighty  depths. 
Amid  the  slime  and  filth  what  treasures  lie 
buried.  How  many  pallid  faces,  appeal- 
ing for  help  and  succor,  have  gone  down 
through  its  seething  waves.  What  a charnel 


3 


34 


John  Ruskin 


house  it  is ! Could  its  crystal  gates  be 
opened  and  the  ghosts  come  forth,  the  world 
itself  would  be  teeming  with  phantoms  that 
would  unnerve  and  pall  the  hearts  of  men! 
O the  hopes,  joys,  and  loves,  the  things 
precious  of  mind  and  heart,  the  glorious 
argosies  of  human  wealth  which  have  gone 
down  because  of  “man’s  inhumanity  to  man.” 
Ruskin  saw  the  tragedies  of  environment. 
His  argument  is  sane.  Says  he,  Let  the 
child  of  good  fortune  and  refinement  ex- 
change homes  with  the  child  of  the  tene- 
ment district,  and  the  former  will  go  down 
to  shame  and  ruin,  while  the  latter  will 
go  up  to  honor  and  success.  No  songster 
comes  from  the  brood  of  serpents ; no 
mellow-throated  lark  from  the  nest  of  the 
carrion  bird.  His  plea  is  for  the  simple 
ministrations  of  beauty  to  fall  on  the  stressed 
and  the  distressed.  The  fact  and  the  power 
of  beauty  must  be  recognized.  On  a sum- 
mer’s day  we  flee  from  the  city  to  escape 


35 


John  Ruskin 

the  decorations  of  man,  and,  in  the  country, 
we  fall  into  the  sweeter  enchantments  of 
the  All-father.  For  lo!  his  fields  and  hill- 
sides are  carpeted  with  green;  the  garments 
of  tree  and  shrub  throw  off  perfume;  the 
dewdrops  sparkle  like  condensed  sunshine; 
the  branches  follow  the  grace  of  the  lily’s 
stem ; the  vines  are  swinging  festoons ; 
great  trees  form  Gothic  arches,  and  the 
whole  woodland  is  a temple  of  song.  God 
loves  the  beautiful.  We  would  die  were  we 
only  saints.  To  enjoy  the  law  of  the  beau- 
tiful is  to  be  natural.  Music  is  as  useful 
as  a steam  engine.  Beauty  thrown  upon 
wall,  canvas,  floor,  or  table  is  as  full  of 
utility  as  the  rolling,  sparkling  trolley. 
Architecture  is  as  valuable  as  plows  and 
steel  rails.  In  a day  so  excessively  com- 
mercial, this  truth  needs  emphasis.  Ruskin’s 
thought  is  that  a mind  stirred  to  feel  the 
proportions  of  a graceful  arch,  the  beauty 
of  a column,  or  the  delicate  shadings  of 


36  John  Ruskin 

line  is  prepared  to  appreciate  the  more  ex- 
alted forms  of  beauty  as  they  may  appear. 
Such  a one  can  pass,  without  effort,  from 
the  Venus  de  Milo  to  the  Sistine  Madonna, 
from  the  grandeur  of  Solomon’s  temple  to 
the  infinite  worth  of  the  Christ,  and  listen 
to  the  truth  of  eternity  as  it  falls  from  his 
holy  lips. 

While  Ruskin  was  seeking  explanations 
of  the  wretchedness  of  the  poor  man’s 
home,  he  visited  Sheffield.  Here  he  mingled 
with  the  workmen  in  iron  and  steel.  They 
were  without  models.  Minds  uninstructed, 
and  hands  unguided,  made  menial  drudgery 
of  labor.  Ruskin  brought  hither  his  num- 
erous pieces  of  his  magnificent  marbles, 
gathered  in  Greece  and  Italy;  his  art  treas- 
ures, collected  in  Florence,  Rome,  and 
Paris,  and,  with  free  hand,  distributed 
them  among  the  workmen  of  the  Sheffield 
factories,  that  after  these  models  they  might 
trace  the  graceful  line  in  the  handiwork  of 


John  Ruskin 


37 


their  daily  toil.  A few  years  passed,  and 
the  lines  and  tints  of  these  models  were  re- 
peated on  walls  and  furniture,  and  sprinkled 
in  home-made  carpets  and  rugs.  John 
Ruskin  was  the  father  of  diffusive  art.  For 
many  long  centuries  genius  carved  and 
painted  for  palace  and  temple.  Hither  were 
carried  statues,  white  and  lifelike ; paintings, 
rare  and  rich;  tapestries,  choice  and  beauti- 
ful; mosaics,  radiant  with  precious  gems. 
But  during  these  long  ages,  the  poor, 
through  many  centuries,  lived  in  caves  of 
clay,  with  roofs  of  straw,  and  floors  of  mud. 
The  common  herd,  so  branded,  was  de- 
based with  an  abhorrent  ugliness.  Unto  this 
prophet  is  due  credit  for  the  commencement 
of  that  era,  in  which  to-day  the  lowliest 
home  of  the  humblest  citizen  is  blessed  by 
the  presence  of  beauty  and  grace. 

Ruskin's  doctrine  of  money-getting  and 
money-spending  was  bold  and  courageous 
and  revolutionary.  Upon  the  faces  of 


John  Ruskin 


38 

bond,  mortgage,  and  writ  were  the  scars 
of  distortion.  He  believed  that  money-get- 
ting  was  the  curse  of  man.  He  said,  with 
Plato,  “The  citizen  must  be  happy  and 
good,  but  very  rich  and  very  good  at 
the  same  time  he  can  not  be.”  To  him  the 
rich  man’s  heart  sounded  like  sap-wood. 
He  dared  impertinent  questions.  He  did 
not  ask  how  much  was  given  in  benevolence, 
but  how  was  the  money  earned.  His  ques- 
tions were  unanswered.  On  the  bold  pages 
of  “Fors  Clavigera,”  he  says:  “Dick  Tur- 
pin is  blamed  by  some  plain-minded  per- 
son for  consuming  the  means  of  other  peo- 
ple’s living.  ‘Nay,’  says  Turpin,  to  the 
plain-minded  person,  ‘observe  how  benefi- 
cently and  pleasantly  I spend  whatever  I 
get.’  ‘Yes,  sir,’  persists  the  plain-minded 
person ; ‘but  how  do  you  get  it  ?’  ‘The  ques- 
tion,’ says  Dick,  ‘is  insidious  and  irrele- 
vant.’ ” Ruskin  turns,  and  charges  on 
counterfeited  charity : “No  man  ever  became, 


John  Ruskin 


39 


or  can  become,  largely  rich  merely  by  labor 
and  economy.  . . . Persons  desiring  to 

be  rich,  and  accumulating  riches,  always 
hate  God,  and  never  fear  him;  the  idol 
they  do  fear  [for  many  of  them  are  sincerely 
religious]  is  an  imaginary  or  mind-sculp- 
tured God  of  their  own  making,  to  their  own 
liking.”  They  hated  him.  How  could  they 
love?  To  them  these  exclamations  were 
the  wild  images  of  a fancy  tilted  and 
tottering  under  excessive  and  ignorant  think- 
ing. “Idiot,”  read  the  penny-a-liner;  “in- 
sane,” muttered  the  Oxford  teacher;  “better 
have  a guardian  appointed,”  said  the 
Churchman ; “fool,”  scorned  the  editor. 
Amid  these  whirligigs  of  human  hurri- 
canes was  it  true  that  Ruskin  had  struck 
the  sandbar  of  folly?  Was  he  duped  by 
a blue  distance?  Was  he  vainly  mocked 
by  the  irony  of  events?  Was  he  just  under 
the  juniper  branches,  with  a clot  on  his 
brain?  Extremist?  One-sided?  Yes,  but 


40 


John  Ruskin 


intelligently  so.  Is  it  not  true  that  such  as 
he  have  lifted  the  world  a little  nearer 
heaven,  and  became  the  forerunners  of 
truths,  which  are  destined  to  be  coexten- 
sive with  man  ? Extremists  have  caused  the 
pendulum  to  stop  midway  in  its  swing. 
Raleigh,  Savonarola,  and  Cromwell  are 
types  of  such.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  ex- 
tremist, the  world  might  to-day  be  sitting 
on  its  flat  disk,  with  its  feet  hanging  over 
in  the  placid  waters  of  a placid  ocean. 

Ruskin  believed  that  wealth  is  a social 
fact;  that  our  plus  possessions  should  be 
applied  to  another  man’s  need.  He  was 
ever  faithful  to  this  principle.  In  the  first 
years  of  his  manhood,  he  began  tithing  his 
income,  until,  at  length,  he  gave  his  entire 
fortune  in  serving  his  fellowman.  He 
opened  for  the  submerged  classes  libraries, 
clubs,  and  entertainment  halls ; purchased 
waste  commons,  and  turned  them  into 
flower  gardens  and  parks,  with  birds  and 


John  Ruskin 


4i 


splashing  fountains.  Here  the  poor  women 
might  come  for  a long,  hot  summer  after- 
noon, with  crying  babes  clinging  to  their 
breast,  and  get  a kiss  of  God’s  sun- 
shine and  a breath  of  his  fresh  air.  He 
opened  the  Chapel  of  St.  John,  and  brought 
hither  his  rich  paintings  for  the  walls,  and 
placed  pedestals  for  his  sculptures,  and 
turned  the  little  sanctuary  into  an  art  gallery, 
and  commanded  the  poor,  free  of  price,  to 
come  hither  seven  days  in  the  week  and 
enjoy  a feast  of  beauty.  Thus  he  sought  to 
dethrone  the  rule  of  violence.  Repression 
disgraces;  reverence  ennobles. 

Wealth  is  a social  fact,  otherwise  it  ceases 
to  be  wealth.  A miner,  in  a desolate  moun- 
tain region,  discovers  a mine  of  gold  or  sil- 
ver ; how  much  better  off  is  he  ? He  is  just  as 
poor  as  he  was  before,  because  he  is  in  the 
mountain  desert  alone.  If  this  statement 
is  disputed,  let  the  merchant  open  up  busi- 
ness one  hundred  miles  back  in  the  forest; 


42 


John  Ruskin 


the  professional  man,  his  office  on  some 
distant  island;  the  manufacture,  his  shop 
on  the  prairie  wild.  The  man  of  fortune  is 
rich  to-day  because  he  is  living  where  the 
people  are,  and  they  alone  have  made  pos- 
sible his  wealth.  No  man  has  the  right  to 
do  as  he  pleases  with  his  own.  The  truth 
is,  it  is  not  his  own  in  any  such  measure. 
A few  years  ago  what  a thrill  of  indigna- 
tion swept  over  the  country  when  a cele- 
brated financier,  on  being  approached  in 
reference  to  his  duty  and  obligation  to 

the  people,  replied : “The  public  be .” 

Every  man  of  wealth  is  directly  or  in- 
directly aided  by  the  public,  and  to  that 
public  he  is  obligated.  Were  it  not  for 
the  public,  he  could  not  be  protected  in 
the  possession  of  it ; and,  secondly,  his 
commodities,  whether  of  brain  or  hand, 
require  the  supply  and  demand  of  the  same 
public.  This  is  not  socialism,  though  there  is 
some  truth  in  socialism.  But,  as  a system, 


John  Ruskin 


43 


socialism  is  not  true.  The  teaching  of  Rus- 
kin on  this  point  is  simply  plain  Christianity ; 
’t  is  getting  back  to  Jesus.  Herbert  Spencer 
shows  the  weakness  and  the  fallacy  of 
socialism,  as  a system,  in  its  inevitable  tend- 
ency to  level  individuality.  For  this  reason 
it  can  never  become  permanently  effectual, 
and  should  not.  In  this  sense  humanity 
can  never  stand  on  a common  plane.  It 
would  be  like  a snowfall  on  a quiet  night; 
before  another  day  it  would  be  gathered 
into  heaps  again.  Ruskin’s  teachings  brings 
all  genius  to  the  altar  of  human-kind.  Amid 
the  criticisms,  sharp  and  terrific,  he  chose 
between  the  two  alternatives ; ease  and 
luxury  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  unpopular 
cause  of  enslaved  people  on  the  other.  In 
this  hour  he  did  not  make  pay  in  ecclesi- 
astical indorsement,  nor  did  he  bar  up  the 
flood-gates  of  the  heart,  but  he  himself  be- 
came the  living,  acting,  teaching  incarna- 
tion of  this  sublime  truth. 


44 


John  Ruskin 


This  a busy,  hurrying,  breathless  day. 
There  is  one  thing  sure,  we  are  determined 
to  live  while  we  live.  Morning  and  evening 
are  bumpers ! They  are  battledore  and 
shuttlecock  in  the  daily  grind.  Men  will 
give  ten  dollars  rather  than  ten  minutes 
of  time.  Each  day  rains  cares  and  hard 
knocks ; competitions  are  distracting,  often- 
times turned  into  a black  art.  So  it  was  in 
Ruskin’s  day.  He  saw  men  chased  hither 
and  thither,  trying  to  get  “on,”  ravished  by 
competitions,  disappointed  by  growing 
selfishness,  cast  down  because  of  failure, 
care-worn  by  approaching  uncertainty.  He 
said  that  lives  so  pressed  and  perplexed 
demand  more  leisure.  Sand-heaps  were 
crushing  them;  an  enlarged  outlook  they 
could  not  have.  An  expanse  of  vision  can 
only  come  with  an  expanse  of  time,  leisure 
for  meditation.  Character,  the  great  word 
in  the  unabriged  dictionary  of  human  life, 
is  not  made  where  the  crowd  passes  by- 


John  Ruskin 


45 


Business  pressure  and  social  deformities 
can  only  be  escaped  by  flying  to  ourselves. 
More  time,  pleaded  Ruskin,  that  men, 
women,  and  children  may  have  a chance  to 
live  in  the  higher  lobes  of  their  beings! 
The  most  impressive  voice  is  that  voice 
that  calls  apart.  Leisure ! Leisure  to  touch 
varied  nature,  and  see  how  God  adorned 
the  world  and  how  he  laid  the  sleepers; 
leisure  to  make  excursions  in  green  pas- 
tures and  beside  still  waters;  leisure  that 
jaded  limbs  may  relax  and  return  with 
vigor;  leisure  that  the  fires  of  excitement 
may  go  down,  and  think  a while  on  the 
couch  of  wisdom;  leisure  to  forget  the  tire- 
some insipidity  of  the  multitudes,  and  to 
fly  from  the  “ring  around  a rosy  circle,” 
and  blind  the  eyes  from  the  shining,  swim- 
ming, simpering  crowds;  leisure  to  rescue 
self  from  decay,  and  be  alone  to  delve  in 
the  storied  nature  of  our  soul!  Ruskin’s 
plea  for  leisure,  and  the  monotony  with 


46 


John  Ruskin 


which  so  many  lives  are  burdened,  reminds 
me  sadly  of  an  old  woolen  factory,  marked 
with  many  hard  years,  and  decayed,  which 
stood  near  the  home  of  my  boyhood. 
Gone  is  the  dam,  the  old  mill-race,  and 
the  mill  itself,  with  its  many  sunlight  places 
and  half-exposed  ribs.  But,  closing  the 
eye,  I can  see  how  the  old  scene  of  years 
ago.  The  old  water-wheel  is  still  there, 
hanging  on  its  crooked  axle,  and  the  water 
is  pouring  in  childish  leaps  and  bounds 
over  it.  The  old  bent  wheel  moves  round 
and  round  with  a creak  and  rumble,  filling 
the  black,  rusty  buckets,  and  the  empty 
ones,  with  their  dusky  mouths,  are  con- 
stantly returning  to  be  refilled  again,  and  so 
on  and  on,  day  and  night,  with  idle  and 
undying  monotony.  O the  groveling  life! 
Monotony  dams  it ! Its  only  voice  is  the 
voice  of  the  whistle.  The  ceaseless  creak  of 
the  loom,  and  the  listless  rattle  of  machine, 
Ruskin  argues,  are  the  death  sound  of  the 


John  Ruskin 


47 


workmen.  Every  lever,  ratchet,  screw,  and 
belt  are  parts  of  a machine  which  should 
be  man's  emancipator.  Invention  ought  to 
work  towards  freedom.  Every  improve- 
ment in  mechanics  should  mean  more 
leisure  for  the  laborer.  Outside  of  the  hands 
of  the  higher  purpose,  Aaron’s  rod  was  a 
sapless  and  a dead  thing,  but,  when  in  the 
divine  grasp,  it  becomes  a scepter  of  royal 
strength.  So  Ruskin’s  philosophy  is  that 
every  invention  must  be  the  liberator  of 
man,  unstrapping  the  awful  grind  and  bur- 
den of  daily  toil,  and  thereby  allowing  the 
laboring  man  more  time  for  self-improve- 
ment. The  gauge  of  personal  worth  is  to 
that  degree  that  the  hours  of  leisure  become 
solemn,  impressive,  and  reflective.  Such 
hours  enrich  desires,  purify  thoughts,  exalt 
purposes,  and  signalize  victory  for  man. 

Ruskin  lived  in  the  pursuit  of  the  ideal. 
The  first  impression  is,  as  we  look  out 
upon  the  old  world,  all  things  seem  fixed. 


48 


John  Ruskin 


But  the  second  and  third  impressions  are 
that  nothing  is  fixed.  Discontent  is  the  law 
of  all  life.  Every  clod  and  pebble  at  our  feet 
feels  the  stir  of  might.  The  tree,  the  bulb, 
the  blade  of  grass  are  wrestling  with  forces 
unseen ; they  are  trying  to  lose  one  life  that 
they  may  find  another.  All  things  are 
striving  to  be  other  than  what  they  are. 
The  bud  wants  to  realize  itself  in  flower, 
and  the  acorn  is  struggling  toward  the  oak. 
In  our  inner  impulses  we  are  all  seeking 
the  other  self.  There  is  a warfare  between 
the  actual  and  the  potential,  between  the 
real  and  the  ideal.  The  boy  loses  gun  and 
dog,  boat  and  rod,  to  become  a man.  May 
we  let  ourselves  loose  and  lose  ourselves. 
When  we  think  properly,  we  pray;  we  are 
feeling  our  way  after  the  vital  source 
of  things.  We  get  a glimpse  of  the  ideal, 
and  our  soul  mounts  after  it.  After  all 
it  is  the  germinal  life  of  the  oak  that  rends 
the  acorn ; ideals  rend  the  human  soul. 


John  Ruskiri 


49 


Deep  and  serious  is  life,  let  there  be  a ten- 
sion between  the  subject  and  the  object. 
Span  the  chasm,  like  unto  some  Paul  Re- 
vere. Tennyson’s  “Two  Voices”  instruct 
us — an  inspiration  there,  rather  than  an 
ambition  here.  Reach  after  the  ultimate 
limit,  “I  am  God’s.”  We  are  ever  conscious 
of  our  duality.  Alcott  says,  “The  dual  is 
in  us.”  The  plain  devil  is  in  us  sometimes. 
Reality  and  ideality  must  reach  after  di- 
vine things.  We  turn  them  over  and  over, 
and  we  always  find  that  the  essential  ele- 
ment of  one  is  the  essential  element  of  the 
other;  what  is  fundamental  in  one  is  funda- 
mental in  the  other.  It  is  more  essential 
for  a man  to  be  a man  than  to  be  an  Eng- 
lishman, Scotchman,  or  even  an  Irishman. 
One  object  is  yellow,  and  another  object 
is  blue ; it  is  more  essential  for  them  to  have 
color  than  that  one  is  yellow  and  the  other 
is  blue. 

Ruskin’s  critics  were  life-shriveled,  bent 

4 


John  Ruskin 


50 

cripples,  who  kick  at  everything  that  op- 
poses them;  but,  by  virtue  of  this  gravity, 
he  could  fly.  Mean  resistance  made  him 
possible.  He  could  see.  Almost  anybody 
could  see  the  cedars,  but  it  took  a Solomon 
to  see  the  hyssop.  It  takes  great  big  things, 
things  of  gigantic  proportions,  to  move  most 
of  us,  because  we  can’t  see.  With  most 
people  it  takes  a whole  flower-garden  to 
move  and  touch  them,  but  a simple  daisy 
caused  Burns  to  fall  on  his  knees,  and  his 
soul  burst  into  wondrous  song.  Linnaeus 
saw  so  much  in  one  coarse,  common  flower 
that  he  wept  in  wondering  praise.  The 
earth-worm ! O ! out  of  the  way  with 
the  nasty  thing.  Darwin,  however,  saw  so 
much  in  this  repelling  creature  that  he 
wrote  a whole  volume  about  it.  He  really 
became  the  “poet  laureate  of  the  worm.” 
What  a eulogy  you  say?  But  it  takes  a 
big  man  to  see  the  great  and  the  magnificent 
in  the  commonplace.  This  is  genius. 


John  Ruskin 


51 


Ruskin  possessed  it.  To  all  of  the  littleness 
of  his  day  he  closed  his  eye.  An  artist  does 
not  sit  down  somewhere  to  paint  a malarial 
bog,  but  he  goes  where  some  mountain  is 
lifting  itself  out  of  some  flowery  area,  or 
where  its  crags  protrude  themselves  above 
the  infinite  depths  of  the  ocean.  Our 
prophet,  from  his  mountain-minded  vision, 
beheld  those  summits  upon  which  humanity 
was  to  be  unfolded  in  a justice  and  love, 
and  God  the  one  common  Father  of  all.  His 
moral  excellence  stands  apart.  It  rises 
above  his  fellows  like  the  glories  of  land 
and  sea  upon  the  horizon.  He  believed  that 
we  are  God’s  children  of  infinite  possi- 
bilities. He  dreamed  of  that  day  when  the 
Spirit  of  Christ  would  stir  every  breast. 
As  Wyclif  sounded  the  clarion  note  to 
which  the  advancing  host  of  the  English 
Reformation  rallied,  so  Ruskin  is  the 
prophet  and  seer  of  modern  democracy. 
Listen — “Piers  Plowman” — the  first  great 


52 


John  Ruskin 


democratic  song  of  English  history!  It  is 
sounding  the  knell  of  feudalism,  and  de- 
claring the  rights  of  man.  Ruskin’s  note 
is  keyed  to  the  same  song : 

“The  owl  he  fareth  well 

In  the  shadows  of  the  night, 

And  it  puzzleth  him  to  tell 
Why  the  eagle  loves  the  light ; 

So  he  hooteth  loud  and  long, 

But  the  eagle  soars  away, 

And  on  pinions  swift  and  strong, 

Like  a roused  thought,  sweeps  away.  ” 

Ruskin’s  truth  is  the  magical  ideal  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  Savior.  Emerson  says, 
“The  affirmative  of  affirmatives  is  love.” 
Here  is  where  humanity  is  to  rest,  and  from 
this  rock  it  is  to  build  its  glory.  This  one 
supreme  Christ-truth  is  like  the  cathedral 
tower  which  throws  into  its  shadow  the 
storied  walls  beneath,  and  whose  radiance 
gleams  like  the  immense  cross  upon  its 
summit.  This  is  the  choral  melody  to  which 


John  Ruskin 


53 


the  hearts  of  the  world  are  to  be  attuned. 
It  is  coming!  It  is  here!  The  Church  of 
the  Good  Smaritan,  the  Church  of  “Abou 
Ben  Adhem.”  Its  creed  and  ritual  are  the 
beatitudes  of  the  world’s  only  Savior,  and 
the  Golden  Rule  of  which  he  was  the  in- 
carnation. Its  every  message  will  be  that 
sin  is  abject  slavery,  that  bigotry  is  blood- 
less oppression,  that  narrowness  is  blinded 
tyranny,  and  that  the  way  of  Calvary  is 
the  only  way  to  the  Father. 


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